


Sunshine

by ohmyfae



Series: Dads of the Year [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Amnesia, Dadfic AND a Momfic, F/M, Grief, M/M, Sword and Sorcery AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: King Noctis Lucis Caelum, widower and a sorcerer of some repute, struggles to overcome his grief in the peace following his wife's death. Prompto, a former spell-thrall soldier of Niflheim, lives in the city, where he is trying to help break the spell on a woman he found dying in Altissia, a woman he only knows as Sunshine. Sunshine herself is trying to discover who she is, trapped by magic and desperate for a life she barely remembers. When Noct's daughter wanders into Prompto's life one night, she brings all three of them into each others' lives in a way that will change them irrevocably.





	1. Chapter 1

"Stella!"

Noctis Lucis Caelum, the first true sorcerer-king in nearly five hundred years and an embarrassment beyond measure, flung himself onto the railing of the first floor stair of the Citadel and let out an undignified cry of horror.

"No," said Stella. Her maid and best friend, Thena, gave her a pained look of sympathy and helped pin up her heavy winter overcoat. "Dad, no."

"Come on, Stella," said the king of the largest kingdom on the continent. "I'll be killed by pirates if you don't."

"Oh, not _pirates_ this time," Stella groaned, and flounced over, tying up her long blonde hair. "If it's Mother in an eyepatch again, I swear to all the gods, I will--"

"Aha!" The queen of Lucis emerged at the top of the stairs, holding her two-year old son on one hip, a ghostly sword in her free hand. "I've found you at last!"

Stella's brother, Solis, burst into excited, shrieking laughter that bounced off the vaulted ceiling, and Noctis waved a hand at Stella, a spectral blade appearing in the air over his fingers.

"Fine!" Stella snapped, and took the blade. It felt oddly solid around her fingers, like always, but it passed through her father's arm as she turned without so much as breaking the skin. Her father winked, and despite the leaden disgust at having utter _children_ as a royal family, Stella couldn't help but smile back. "Have at you, then."

"That's my girl!" her mother said.

And then, with the words still hanging from her lips, Stella's mother was dead. One moment, she was holding Sol, blade at the ready, and the next, she was a corpse, her skin a mottled grey, her limbs stiff and unyielding. She tipped forward down the stairs, and Solis tumbled and wailed as her body cracked and thudded with a thick wet sound on the marble, as her beautiful white dress was flecked with bits of skin and old blood. Stella tried to climb up the steps to catch her, but grave dirt fountained under her shoes, and she stumbled and slid, clawing at the steps as they were consumed by the earth.

She jerked awake, alone in her bedroom, surrounded by painted stars and the cool, crisp breeze drifting through the open window. The floors were heated by a spell that curled under her feet as she climbed out of bed, and the painting of her mother over the mantle seemed to watch her as she made for the closet and pulled out a robe. Stella tied it around her waist and pushed open the door to the main hallway.

Her father was in his study, as expected. Before her mother was lost in the battleground of Altissia, he used to fall asleep in his chair, going over reports he'd set aside so he could play with Stella or look after Sol. Now, Stella cracked open the door to find him with his chin on one palm, scratching away at a sheet of spells. He had stubble on his chin again--Stella's mother would have never let him get away with _that_ \--and his eyes were heavy with shadow, worn and tired. Stella watched him for a moment, and stepped back as he pushed the paper aside and shoved his chair away from the desk.

"Gods," he said. He rose, crumpling the paper in the trash, and let out a gasp of ragged breath that Stella had never heard before. It sounded uncomfortably like a sob, and she pushed the door with her fingertips as his footsteps stomped off towards the connecting room. A door slammed, and Stella crept into the office, towards the rumpled sheet of paper. She could hear her father rattling about in the bedroom, cushions creaking and wardrobes being thrown open, so she risked smoothing out the paper to look at the runes scribbled on the page.

It was an illusion spell. Her father had managed to make a few when they were little, spelling old kings and queens to walk out of their paintings in the gallery, but this one was... this one looked different. There were runes for death squeezed into the circle, but reversed, and a rune Stella didn't recognize, one that her vision seemed to dart away from every time she tried to focus on it. Something dangerous, then. She looked up towards the door to her father's room.

"Gods," he said, his voice muffled through the door. "I can't--I... Evigila."

Stella backed away from the spell as light rose from the center, light that swirled and bloomed like the grave dirt in her dream, billowing up into the form of a woman in a long, elegant gown. The illusion stepped down from the desk, and Stella cringed back as the bespelled vision of her mother drifted silently across the carpet.

Spectral fingers touched the handle of the door.

Impusively, not even properly knowing why, Stella grabbed at the spell and ripped it in two. The vision burst, and she heard her father rising, his footsteps drawing nearer. She turned and ran just as the door opened, and burst out into the darkened hallway.

Her father called her name, but Stella ran on, magic burning under her fingers, the ghost of her mother flickering behind her eyes.

 

 

"Clean-up at table four!"

Prompto Argentum sighed. It was the fifth hour of what was turning out to be a mind-numbing shift at Rose's All-Night Diner, and he was already yearning for the small, clean mattress on the floor of his upstairs apartment. There weren't any fryers in his apartment. No drunks throwing up all over the floor. No irate businessmen complaining about their cheap food tasting about as good as it cost. Just his bed, and maybe Sunshine, if she was aware enough to talk.

He grabbed a rag and flashed his manager a smile. "I live to serve," he said, and winked.

His manager rolled her eyes. Oh, well. No one ever got the joke, anyways. "Just be quick about it."

"They don't call me _Prompto_ for nothing--Okay, okay, I'm going!" Prompto examined the mess on table four, shrugged, and started tipping plates into his bussing tray.

No one at Rose’s really understood how Prompto could scrub down tables, escort drunks out into the street, wash out the bathrooms, and still come away from it whistling tunelessly, but no one at Rose’s really understood _Prompto._ It came from being Lucian, probably. In Lucis, ordinary commoners didn’t have to consider waking up one day to find a state-appointed sorcerer at the door with a draft ticket and a worrying smile. They never had spells tattooed into their skin. They never had to stand there, horror draining away like rain down a gutter as the words were spoken, falling into a thrall where the spirit lay trapped far below while the body moved at command. They’d never watched from a great distance while their own hands tore through the flesh of some poor Lucian soldier. They’d never had to deal with the sudden, horrible truth of waking as the world crashed down around them, as gunfire burst on the cobbles and bodies slid into the thrashing sea.

But Prompto knew. He’d been there. He’d stood in the wreckage of what he’d once been and made the first true decision in over eight years, and it had led him here, to Lucis, wiping up beer stains from a worn table. 

So he was fine. Everything was fine.

“Get the hell out of the street!”

“Sorry!”

Prompto glanced up from his bin. A young girl in an expensive robe--a priestess, maybe?--jumped aside as a chocobo-drawn carriage rocked down the cobbles. She had her white-blond hair pinned up in a ponytail, and she looked to be about twelve or so. Definitely too young to be in that part of town. 

“Hey.” Prompto walked to the door, waving a hand. “Hey, kid!”

“Oh!” The girl turned. “Oh, no, no thank you.”

Prompto smiled sidelong. “I’m not selling anything. Are you lost?”

“What? No!” The girl smiled. There was something familiar about it, even stretched and pained as it was. “No, not at all. I’m just. Taking in the sights.”

“Uh huh. And what road are you on? Don’t cheat!” The girl paled, mouth open. “Alright. Come in and we’ll figure out where you are.”

She stumbled in after him, looking around the small, dingy diner somewhat fearfully. “Don’t worry,” Prompto said. “Sit at an empty table and I’ll get you some fries, okay?”

“Thank you,” the girl whispered, and scurried off into the corner. Prompto picked up his bin and sidled over to Rose. 

“No strays,” Rose said. “Whatever she eats comes out of your paycheck.”

“Got it, boss,” Prompto said, and ran off to put away the dishes. He came back to find the girl picking at a basket of fried bread, eyeing the other diners warily. He sat down, and she jumped a little. “Alright, what are we running from?” Prompto asked.

“Pardon?” She had a bit of an accent, too. Not quite Tenebraean, but close enough to lend a drawl to her vowels. “I’m not running from anything.”

“You were,” Prompto said. “Trust me. I know the look.”

She sighed. “I was… It's silly, really. I was just scared, that's all.”

“Nothing wrong with being scared,” Prompto said. “What happened?”

The girl sighed again. “My father,” she said. Prompto’s eyes narrowed, and she blanched. “Not--he wasn't--it's just that--I don't know why I need to tell you, but he lost, my mother died in the war a few months ago.”

Prompto sat up. “Oh. I’m sorry, kid.”

“She was…” The girl took a deep breath. “I don't know. Perfect. Dad was there when she died--they were separated, I think, and the spell-thralls caught her…”

Prompto’s mind raced frantically. A woman. Had he killed a woman, before the spell commanding him broke? He couldn't remember. Dozens, probably. 

“He's not the same,” she said. “He’s… It feels like it's killing him, and I’m afraid he’s going to… to do something dangerous, and I… I’m trying so hard,” she said. Tears were standing out in her eyes. “I’ve been good. I’ve tried to make it easier for him--I’ve been reading to Sol like Mum used to, but he’s so quiet now and I just, I want him to--”

“Oh, kid,” Prompto said. He got up, moving around the table, and the girl wrapped her arms around his waist. She wept into his apron, and Prompto patted her back. “That's a lot to deal with. Have you talked to him about it?”

“Not really,” the girl sobbed. “I don't want him to worry.”

“I’d bet he’d worry if you ran away,” Prompto pointed out, and the girl covered her face with her hands. “Hey. Hey, it's okay. I’ll help you get home, alright?”

“You must think I’m a _child,_ ” she moaned.

“Well, you are,” Prompto said. She pulled back just enough to glare at him, and he grinned. “Wait a minute and I’ll tell Rose I’m taking a sick day, okay?”

“You don't have to,” she said, but Prompto was already up, taking the basket of bread with him.

He came back with fresh cinnamon twists, a dire warning from his boss, and what he hoped was a reassuring smile. The girl smiled back, and almost giggled when he bowed and held out an arm.

“Where do you live, my lady?” he asked. 

“Um. Up by the Citadel.”

“Fancy,” Prompto said, and she smiled again. They walked together up the sidewalk, sharing the twists between them, and Prompto kept her from sinking into a fit of gloom by pointing out all the little restaurants and theater houses on the way, telling stories about the people who worked there.

“You're making these up,” the girl said, as they turned a corner towards the upper city. “No one actually keeps a dog as an accountant.”

“Stop by and ask,” Prompto said. “We’ll see who’s a liar _then._ Don't actually ask, though,” he added. 

“Aha!” The girl pushed him with her shoulder, and Prompto pointed down the street. 

“And there’s the Citadel,” he said. “You've probably heard about that one. They say a sorcerer lives there. He walks in your dreams and eats children in his spare time, according to my old neighbors, but I hear he’s actually kind of nice in real life.”

“What kind of neighbors did you have?” the girl asked. 

“Used to live in the South,” Prompto said. “In Tenebrae.” Another lie, but a safe one. There were plenty of refugees in Lucis these days, and Niflheim was close enough to be believable.

“Really? My mother’s from Tenebrae!” 

“Yeah, you have the signature blonde hair,” Prompto said. “Just like me.” He primped his bangs, and the girl snorted. 

“You're as bad as my father,” she said. “Sometimes, he can almost be… Oh, dear.”

“Oh dear what?” Prompto turned to follow her gaze, and gripped her by the shoulder. A carriage raced towards them, surrounded by the unearthly trail of silvery blue magic, which wove around the black chocobos that ran almost silently down the cobbled street. Prompto’s breath caught--magic, it was _magic,_ there was a sorcerer in that carriage--and he pulled the girl behind him as the carriage shrieked to a stop. 

“Run,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ll hold them--”

“It's okay,” the girl said. She pushed around him, and Prompto’s breath hitched as the carriage door opened, and a man stepped out onto the street. He was about Prompto’s height, dark-haired and beautiful, with the girl’s striking blue eyes and a narrow jawline shadowed with stubble. He held out his hands to the girl, and gold flickered on the buttons of his black suit.

“Stella,” he said. “What on earth were you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Stella said, pressing her face into the man’s chest. “I was just… I’m sorry.”

The man turned a cool gaze to Prompto, and Prompto rocked back. He knew that face. He’d seen it on government flyers and posters, even on some of the bills slipped his way at work.

“What were you doing with my daughter?” asked the king of Lucis.

Prompto swallowed.

“He was helping me home, Dad,” Stella said. 

“She was lost,” Prompto said. “Your majesty.”

King Noctis looked Prompto up and down. “What's your name?”

“Prompto.”

“Hm.” The king ushered his daughter into the carriage, keeping a critical eye on Prompto. “Thank you, Prompto. I’ll be sure to remember this.”

“Th--” The words stuck in Prompto’s throat as the carriage door slammed shut, and he threw himself back as it veered around, magic dancing over the chocobos’ tack. A slim hand reached out of the window and waved frantically, and Prompto waved back.

“Thank you!” the princess called. “Thank you for the stories! And the bread!”

“No problem!” Prompto croaked.

He made it home in silence, tottering slightly as he creaked his way up the stairs. It was dark inside, the candle at Sunshine’s bed sputtering in its dish, and Prompto refilled it, striking a match to ward off the darkness.

A pale face emerged from the blankets before him, and a woman’s voice, thin and creaking, whispered in the empty room. 

“You're shaken.”

“I’m okay,” Prompto said. He pulled back the covers and lay his hand on the woman’s forehead, feeling for a sign of fever. “Any progress, Sunshine?”

“How was work?” Bad, then. Prompto crossed his legs and stroked Sunshine’s white-blonde hair, and she lay a hand on his wrist, fingers sliding under the band that hid his tattoo. 

“You wouldn't believe it,” he said. “I met a princess today.”

The woman known as Sunshine smiled. It was a beautiful smile, warm and bright as her nickname, the smile that had tethered Prompto to the world when the spell holding him had slithered loose. The smile of a dying woman on an altar in Altissia, which remained even through the fever that took her memory, through the long nights hobbling towards Lucis, the days when even getting out of bed made her limbs shake and her stomach heave with whatever spell had laid her low. It was the kind of smile that could start a war, Prompto thought. Or maybe end one.

And, he realized, as he gazed down at her in the dim light of the candle, somehow familiar.

“A princess?” she said, taking Prompto’s hand. “Well. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”


	2. Chapter 2

There was a black carriage parked next to Rose's diner when Prompto stopped by for his next shift. It was a massive, ungainly thing, taking up most of the road with its gilded roof and dangling lamps, and people skirted around it anxiously, wide-eyed and shrinking. A crowd of women from the brothel across the street were whispering to each other, entirely uninterested in the potential customers passing by, and Prompto stopped to ask what, exactly, everyone seemed to be waiting for.

"It's from the Citadel," one of them said. "Been sitting in front of Rose's for two hours, now."

"Peggy tried to knock," whispered another. Peggy blushed pink and turned aside, and the others laughed and jostled her. "No one's answering."

Prompto looked out at the dark carriage. The curtains over the window were a midnight blue, and the man feeding the chocobos tethered to it was dressed in the black livery of the palace. "I'll go," Prompto said. "I think it's for me, anyways."

"You!" There was another outbreak of laughter, and it was Prompto's turn to flush, heat rising up his neck. "Go on, then!"

Prompto strode across the street, and the women hushed, nudging each other into silence. Slowly, Prompto eased back the curtains, and blinked at the sight of the king lying on his side in the carriage, head on his arm.

"Your majesty?" Prompto asked. The king sat up, his palm catching on the silk hem of his cape, and his uniform twisted slightly askew. His dark hair was mussed on one side, his eyes were glassy with sleep, and there were cloth lines on his cheek. Prompto struggled not to smile. "Sorry."

"Prompto," the king said. "Yes. I. One moment. Come in."

"Come in now, or in a moment?" Prompto asked. The king gave him the blank look of half-awake people everywhere, and Prompto grinned. "I'll just get the door."

He climbed inside, and the women on the other side of the street gasped. The carriage was warm, with comfortable cushions on the seats and armrests by the windows, and Prompto had to duck to avoid a little tin charm hanging by his head. Prompto sat with his knees drawn up, painfully aware of how worn and thin his clothes were, and waited for the king to bring himself to some kind of order.

"Sorry about this," the king said. "I didn't mean to cause a scene. I just realized that I didn't know where you lived, or when you came to work, so..."

"You didn't have to," Prompto said. He couldn't imagine letting the king of Lucis into his apartment. As it was, he was on edge enough, holding his wrist like a talisman as the sorcerer king stared at him with Stella's cold blue eyes.

"I did, though," King Noctis said. "If Stella had been found by anyone else, it could have been... I'm glad you brought her home."

"How's she doing?" Prompto asked.

"She's on restriction, so she could be better," the king said, smiling faintly. "But she had a lot to say about you. You made an impression on her, I think." He cleared his throat. "I'd like to invite you to the Citadel, if you have time."

"I mean, technically, I have work," Prompto said.

"I spoke to your manager."

"Oh. Then, uh. Sure."

"Great," the king said. Light rose around his hand, and Prompto flattened himself to the wall as the king pulled out a coin, magic jumping between his forefinger and thumb. "Bring us home, Talcott," he said.

"Yes sir, your majesty," said the coin. Prompto dug his nails into the skin of his wrist, and the chocobos took off, rocking the carriage over the cobbles as they made their way along the sloping streets.

 

\---

 

"Prompto!" 

Prompto braced himself as Stella Lucis Caelum, crown princess and one-time runaway, tripped down the wide marble steps of the Citadel. She was wearing a long blue dress with puffy sleeves at the shoulders, and it swirled around her as she wrapped Prompto in a tight embrace, nearly knocking him back a step. He gave the king a panicked look before gingerly hugging her back.

"Hey, kid."

The doorman behind him made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, but the king said nothing, just watched with a quiet, faraway look while Stella pulled herself away and took Prompto's hands.

"I'm glad you decided to visit," she said. She glanced at her father, and her smile faltered a little. "And I'm sorry again for the trouble."

"Hey, you're fine," Prompto said. "I know how it is. I mean. Sort of. When I ran away from home, I was ten, and it was because Mom wouldn't let me keep this stray dog I found."

"Nice," the king said. There was a silence, and he raised a hand to his mouth. "I mean. Uh."

Stella grinned. "Don't mind Dad. He likes to say Mum's the one with all the... all the dignity." She stepped back, weaving her fingers together. "I'll go find Solis," she said.

"Stella." The king raised a hand, but the princess was already gone, pattering up the steps. Her footfalls echoed as she turned the corner to the upstairs hall, and the king scratched at his stubble.

"Didn't realize how quiet it could be," he whispered, half to himself. Prompto shoved his hands in his pockets. The walls were draped with black, heavy cloth hanging over portraits and mirrors, black curtains on all the windows. It was like walking in a shrine to Etro, and reminded Prompto uncomfortably of the wide, empty barracks where the spell-thralls used to be kept. He remembered the sound of dying thralls collapsing on the concrete, the tramp of boots as other thralls dragged the bodies away, the holes in the neat, orderly lines where they used to be.

"Let's follow her, then," Prompto said, and the king jumped as though he'd forgotten Prompto was there. "Things are never quiet when kids are involved, your majesty. Even royal ones."

"Oh, no," the king said, as Prompto started up the stairs. "We don't have to--I had a dinner prepared, you know."

"Then we'll all go," Prompto said. He stopped at the top of the stairs, faced with a row of identical doors against grey and gold wallpaper. "Uh."

"Fifth door on the right," the king said. "You know, most guests don't order their kings around."

"I'm from Tenebrae," Prompto said, and took a risk, watching the way the king's lips twitched in an almost-smile. "I can do whatever I want."

"You don't _sound_ Tenebraean," the king said, trotting after him. "Though gods know you act like one."

"Thanks!" Prompto said, brightly, and swung open a door to a warm, well-lit nursery filled with books and soft wooly chocobos. Stella sat on a bed in the back, trying to shove a shirt on over the flailing limbs of a black-haired toddler, who howled in dismay and tried to wrench it off.

"Oh!" Stella blinked. "Dad! I'm almost done, but Sol is being so difficult--"

"I don't see a Solis here," the king said, in a stern, distant tone. Prompto drew back, but Stella was rolling her eyes, and her little brother shrieked under his shirt. "I see a little daemon!" 

The boy roared, and the king swept down to lift him up, tugging down his shirt properly as he did. "Where'd my Solis go? Who ate him? Was it you?"

The prince screeched again, and the king flipped him upside down. "Excuse me," he said to Prompto. "I must perform an exorcism."

"Dad," Stella said. "I don't know why--"

"Shh," Prompto said. Both Stella and the king stared at him. "Don't you see, Stella? The man holding your brother isn't your dad at all. He's in cahoots with the daemon."

"I see," Stella said, smiling. "He's leading us into a false sense of security."

"It's the only answer," Prompto said. "He's the one who ate your brother."

"Hold on," said the king, when Stella stood, picking up a pillow shaped like a moogle. "Stella, I am your f--"

The moogle pillow hit the king square on the face. He sputtered, still holding his giggling son by the ankles, and smiled wickedly.

"Alright," he said, and swung Solis back into his arms. "Now you're all going down."

The king's advisor found them fifteen minutes later, throwing projectiles at each other from across the hall. Prompto and Stella were barricaded by a pile of chocobo plushes, and the king had built a shimmering wall that changed color every time one of their pillows hit, which nevertheless did absolutely nothing to prevent Ignis Scientia, Earl of Lucis, from being struck in the face by a behemoth doll the moment he came into view.

"Well," he said, as Stella covered her mouth with both hands and the king snorted, dispelling the wall. "I was _going_ to say that dinner is getting cold, but now I believe I may just go downstairs and eat it all myself."

"Oh, no you don't," the king said. He stood, dusting off his trousers, and picked up his son. "Come on, you little gremlins. Let's go."

The dining room was massive, dark, and filled with cloth-covered paintings, but some of the mood from the nursery remained. Prompto learned the names of all of Sol's favorite toys, Stella talked poor Ignis' ear off, and the king sat through it all with a faint, almost bewildered smile, watching Prompto with the air of a man setting foot on the soil of a distant country.

"Thank you," he said, when he escorted Prompto out to the front gates of the Citadel. "That was. That was nice."

"Yeah," Prompto said, and, a little too late, attempted a bow. "Your majesty."

"Noct," the king said. He pushed Prompto upright, a hand lingering on his shoulder. "You can call me Noct."

 

\---

 

The woman known as Sunshine stood on the outside stair next to her apartment, looking out over the city.

She knew this place. She knew, without turning to check, that if she looked to her right, she'd be able to see the rounded top of Ramuh's temple. She knew that there was an orange grove clustered against the slums, that the streets were cleaned every morning before dawn, that if she waited long enough, she could hear the bells of the Citadel chiming the hour. 

If only she knew _why._

The old wound in her side ached, and Sunshine clenched her eyes shut just as the creeping tickle of magic crawled through her veins, pooling in her mind. She fumbled for the door and forced her legs to move, fighting the magic's compulsion in every step. _This_ was what kept her from accepting Prompto's attempts to lure her outside. She could feel another mind pushing at hers, shoving aside her memories, her history, her _name,_ in an attempt to see through her eyes and take control of her stiff, resisting limbs.

"Let go," she whispered. She slammed the door shut behind her and staggered to the bed. 

Once, in a moment of desperation, she'd pulled out a sheaf of paper from the kitchen and sat there with a pen, a list of questions written out in a careful, precise hand. She gave up just enough control to make the pain bearable, and came to an hour later, lurching up the hill towards the high Citadel overlooking the city. When she'd forced her way back, she'd looked at the scrawled words below her question and ripped the page to pieces.

After that, she'd been wary. Whoever did this to her needed her body for _something_. She'd followed the compulsion to Insomnia, after all, guiding poor Prompto in the dark behind her closed eyelids, seeking out the strength behind the spell that bound her. She was close, she knew. The compulsion was stronger than ever before, which meant the person who did this to her was there, somewhere in the city. 

She'd find them soon. Then, when they were dead, and their magic dead with them, she would take back her name and walk under the sun at last, eyes open.


End file.
